Deadmau5 is a weird name. Their logo is an illuminous outline of a freakish mouse with a demonic smile. When I saw their adverts in Canary Wharf DLR station several years ago, I thought they must be some kind of new-wave cyber punk dance act, something different.
They’re not. It turns out that they write the typical uplifting lounge-like house that gets regular air-time on Soft As Shite FM, the kind of stuff that is used to dilute one hundred daily plays of Emily Sandé, the kind of stuff which builders the length and breadth of Britain, quite inexplicably, choose to fill up their whole day with.
Having said that Deadmau5, if I Remember is anything to go by, have honed the art of comfortably numb house. They convey a sense of travelling, travelling somewhere really nice on holiday, on a coach, on a motorway with two hundred miles to go, with absolutely nothing to do.
Beautiful dreams sedating one against boredom.
In many ways I see Deadmau5 as a marketing project, a re-marketing of laid back house. A successful one, ultimately.
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